


What it means to feel

by niosism



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Masturbation, Menstruation, Pain, Post-Canon, Self-Acceptance, Trans Dirk Strider, Trans Male Dirk Strider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niosism/pseuds/niosism
Summary: After all this time, Dirk decides to get to know his body.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	What it means to feel

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trans & felt the need to write this. Check the tags before reading.

Dirk lightly tugs on the seams of his underwear, teasing, toying with the idea of pulling them down and off. His fingers hook on one side of his hips, just another curve he has hated for a number of years. When he places a palm to his thigh and spreads out his digits on the skin there, he feels it. His hand moves to that spot, where the scars are, and his index finger runs up and down the zigzag valley slowly, tracing it like he is trying to memorize how it feels like, because he never had done it before out of shame. All of these years, and he has not learned to take the time to get to know himself. Only now, when he is no longer a teen idle, does he finally grow a pair. A pair of what? Balls? A dick? Not quite. He's not the man he wishes he was. 

Dirk tries not to think when he runs his hands over his body. It is alien to even his own brain. Caressing the plump of his hips, he can't help but wonder why it is shaped that way. He never eats carbs. He exercises. So why are his hips so… big. It makes no sense to him why his body thought it would be a good idea to store fat there. It had to be someplace, right? He didn't go to school. Human anatomy is not his forte. It flatters his figure, but in the wrong way. 

It's stupid how having grown up with nobody else around and no society to tell him right from wrong, and he still decided to adhere to gender norms and hold some kind of bullshit idea of what it all meant. He thought he had it all figured out. But he is outdated. 

He is naked because it is summer and it is hot and there is nobody around to judge him, or ask invasive and unwanted questions. He can just be free and spread his legs and slip his fingers inside… but he won't. That is not right. 

He is so fucking stupid. 

All of these years of being a teenager and pretending to be hard, when instead there are liquids dribbling down his legs, sometimes blood, sometimes not. Instead of being 16, he feels suicidal. Felt. He felt suicidal. He won't say it has gone away completely, but it has certainly been numbed. 

Identity has always been an issue. Isn't that why he was a Heart player? Isn't that why he could call himself gay, and fall for a guy, date him and manipulate him, and then have the audacity to feel upset when he breaks up with you?

Suddenly indignant, Dirk's fingers return to his thighs. He runs them over the thick curling hairs near the edge, where he never bothers to shave, just like the rest of his hairy body, but never hairy enough.

He feels lonely. He wants… he wants. He has wants and needs and desires. He cannot ignore them, and yet he had somehow managed to do just that while all his other friends have been doing god knows what. Definitely not ignoring their desires. Definitely not being ashamed. 

Did he ever think of what he would do with Jake if it had ever come to that? No. He didn't. It was an unspoken thing. They never did get anywhere, so there is no point in thinking about it now. 

Dirk rubs at the spot between his legs. He curls a finger to one of the sensitive hairs there and tugs. He tugs until the dark blond hairs turn an even darker goldenrod, prompting him to release them if he wants to keep his fingers dry. He always has let them go before this point. He doesn't. 

He presses his fingers on both sides of his lips and breathes deep. His chest shakes with it. With trembling digits, he reaches for the hole, his hole, and kisses it. His pussy flutters and clenches at nothingness. He wants…

It's hard to get them in there. There seems to be nowhere else for his fingers to go, but he pushes through the walls because he is tired. It doesn't feel too good, if he's honest, but he wants to believe it won't last forever. After prodding every which way, his index fingers finds the spot, but instead of throwing his head back and closing his eyes, he feels a sharp pain in a place he never even knew he had. He retracts his hand as if burned, and looking at his fingers, finds them sticky and tinted red. 

Shit.

He's not. He can't be- what the fuck? Dirk religiously keeps track of his cycles, there is no way he started bleeding right now. He's an idiot for not knowing better, but what best way to find out shit about yourself than to explore on your own? He's really trying to convince himself that not having had searched this up on Gorgle before he tried doing anything was fine. Dam, he hopes he didn't break anything. He doesn't hate himself as much as he sometimes makes himself believe.

He slides down his bed and stares up at the ceiling. He almost laughs. He wants to be angry at himself but he doesn't. That's not what he's doing right now. His snatch always made himself known, whether it was that time of the month, or the obvious way his pants would sag in the middle, because there was nothing there. It's clenching now, throbbing, but it's not because it wants something, it's because it hurts.

When Dirk listens to songs about sex, he doesn't know where he fits in. If sex is power, where does that energy go when he consumes it? Not his brain or his ego, it just dissolves into nothingness in the space between his uterus and his cervix. All his life he has tried to hide what he was given, but it didn't have to be this way. If sex didn't tell him what he should be, or what he should do, he'd have gotten to this point before he had created a new world. So much for being a God haunted by ghosts of the long-gone society he was never a part of.

After a while, the pain stops, and his body numbs. It is more felt than he thought it would be; ten times more visceral a feeling than any other time he has tried to get himself off. Is this how his body rewards him; by making the pain he has to endure worse than anyone else's just because he is Dirk Strider, and he deserves it?

There is still the seed of carnal desire in there somewhere, but it is so insignificant it is very easy to ignore it. He doesn't ignore it.

His fingers go in as deep as they can go.

He doesn't give a shit anymore. He moans because he can, loud and wanton, for all the goddam seagulls outside of his apartment window, that is drawn open. If anyone nearby hears him too, well good, great even. It feels good to have others know whenever you enjoy yourself, just like posting a picture on Chittr, or Bumblr, but ten times better. It's the adrenaline kicking in, eager for attention, making him dizzy as if he has been drugged. The body does that sometimes, when it is fucked. Sex on the brain. And the best part of it all is that he is doing this to himself. He allows his drugged mind to entertain fleeting thoughts of doing this and that with other versions of himself, and curls his toes when he thinks about digging his fingernails on his own back, making himself bleed. His other hand reaches inside his mouth, where he prepares to choke himself on his own fingers.

He will fuck himself before he fucks anybody else.


End file.
